05-04-2026, 11:02 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
6th FEBRUARY 2004 — BALTAL BASE CAMP, JAMMU AND KASHMIR
The cold didn’t just bite—it hunted. Lieutenant Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar sat on a weathered ammunition crate, gloved hands clasped, breath fogging into the pale Himalayan dusk. The mountains loomed like silent sentinels around the base, their snow-covered ridges glowing faintly under a dying sun. There was a tension in the air that no amount of training could numb—a quiet, suffocating awareness that something big was coming.
Dan had arrived that morning under sealed orders, separated from his previous unit without explanation. That alone was enough to raise alarms. In Kashmir, nothing happened without reason. And lately, reasons were soaked in blood. Mujahideen attacks had escalated, becoming more brazen, more surgical. The valley wasn’t just unstable—it was boiling.
The camp reflected that unease. Soldiers moved with purpose, their conversations clipped and low. Crates of ammunition were stacked like barricades. Radio chatter crackled constantly from the command tents. Somewhere in the distance, a patrol vehicle roared to life and disappeared into the icy wilderness. Dan observed everything, his instincts sharpening with every passing second.
He stood up, adjusting his combat jacket, eyes scanning the perimeter. Every detail mattered. Every shadow could hide a threat. But just as he began piecing together the patterns of movement around him, a deep mechanical hum sliced through the air.
A helicopter.
![[Image: Garud-Force-Origin.png]](https://i.ibb.co/VWj5sNh7/Garud-Force-Origin.png)
Dan turned sharply toward the sound. Cutting through the pale sky was a Mi-16 transport chopper, descending steadily toward the landing zone. Snow whipped violently beneath it as it touched down, the rotor wash scattering ice and dust like a storm unleashed. Dan narrowed his eyes. Another unit, no doubt. Baltal was becoming a convergence point.
The side door slid open.
One by one, soldiers stepped out—disciplined, calculated, their boots hitting the ground in synchronized rhythm. Their gear was different—lighter, sleeker. Special operations, perhaps. Dan watched carefully, noting their posture, their silence, their precision. These weren’t ordinary troops.
Then, at the very end, someone else emerged.
The man stepped out without urgency, yet commanded attention instantly. Unlike the others, he wore an olive-green t-shirt instead of the standard uniform shirt. Aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes despite the fading light. His physique was imposing—broad shoulders, powerful arms, every movement radiating confidence without arrogance.
He walked past Dan.
For a fleeting moment, the man turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Dan. Then came a smile—not mocking, not casual—but something warm, assured… dangerous in its own way. It wasn’t just charisma. It was presence. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself.
Dan felt it immediately. Respect. Curiosity. And something else—a quiet realization that this man wasn’t ordinary.
The moment passed. The man continued walking.
But it stayed with Dan.
Hours later, the entire assembly gathered inside the main hangar. Rows of soldiers stood in formation, boots aligned, shoulders squared. The hum of generators echoed faintly as floodlights illuminated the steel interior. The air inside felt heavier than outside—thick with anticipation.
"At ease!"
Major Sharma’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood at the front, posture rigid, eyes scanning every man present. The room shifted slightly as soldiers relaxed just enough to comply.
Then came the sound of boots—measured, authoritative.
Brigadier Bakshi entered.
Every man straightened instinctively, respect snapping into place. Bakshi wasn’t just a senior officer—he was a battlefield legend. His presence alone carried the weight of decades of war, strategy, and survival. His gaze moved across the crowd, calculating, knowing.
"Gentlemen" he began, voice calm but commanding,
"You are here because you are among the finest this country has to offer"
No one moved. No one spoke.
"Since the hijacking of IC 814, we have understood one thing very clearly—our enemies are evolving. They are no longer confined to borders. They are targeting our skies, our systems… our sovereignty"
A pause.
"And so, we evolve"
The words landed like a declaration of war.
"A new elite task force is being formed. Prototype designation—Tiger Force. Its purpose—strategic operations and the protection of India’s critical air infrastructure. You are the candidates"
A ripple of silent intensity spread through the room.
"To test your capability" Bakshi continued,
"We are initiating a covert strike. Not far from here. A terror camp operating under heavy concealment in the hills. You will engage. You will neutralize"
His eyes hardened.
"And you will accomplish your mission"
He stepped back. Major Sharma took over.
"Squad assignments will be issued now. Listen carefully"
Names were called. Units divided. Tension sharpened.
"Lieutenant Dan"
Dan stepped forward instantly.
"Yes, sir"
"You have been assigned to Delta Squad"
"Understood, sir" Dan nodded once.
Sharma’s gaze held his for a second longer.
"You’ll be assaulting from the high ridge. Shock and awe. Fast insertion, aggressive engagement"
Dan felt a flicker of adrenaline surge through him.
"Your commanding officer—"
A pause.
"Captain Kumar"
Dan froze for just a fraction of a second. That man. The one from the helicopter. He could read his nameplate now.
Cpt. Hemant Kumar
There he was again—but different. Gone was the relaxed aura. In its place stood a fully geared soldier. Tactical vest, combat uniform, weapon slung with effortless familiarity. The sunglasses were gone, revealing sharp, focused eyes. The transformation was absolute.
"Lieutenant" Hemant said, extending a hand.
"Lieutinent Dan reporting for assignment sir" Dan shook it firmly.
"Relax, Dan. Out there, we don’t have time for stiffness" A faint smile returned.
There was something reassuring in his tone—confidence without ego.
“I’ve reviewed your record, You think fast. You adapt faster. I like that" Hemant continued.
"I won’t slow you down, sir" Dan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he met his gaze steadily.
"Good. Because you won’t just be keeping up" Hemant chuckled lightly.
A pause.
"You’ll be assisting me on this assault"
That hit harder than any order so far. Before Dan could respond, Hemant turned, addressing the squad now assembling behind him—battle-hardened men, each one carrying the same silent intensity.
"Listen up!" Hemant’s voice rose, sharp and clear.
"We move at 1400 hours. High ridge insertion. No noise, no mistakes. We hit hard, we hit fast, and we neutralize them before they even understand what happened"
He looked at each of them, one by one.
"This isn’t just another mission"
A beat.
"This is the beginning"
Dan felt it in his bones now. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t just another operation in a troubled region. This was something bigger. Something that would define them. Hemant’s final words sealed it.
"Gear up, Delta Squad"
His eyes locked onto Dan for a brief second.
"Operation Flaming Sun is a go!"
And just like that—The conquest had begun.
The sun stood high over the frozen passes of Zoji La, its light harsh and unforgiving against the white expanse. Noon in the mountains did little to soften the cold—but it revealed everything. And today, it revealed war in motion. Columns of Indian Army vehicles rolled steadily along the narrow highway below, engines growling against the silence of the valley. Dust and snow trailed behind them like a signal flare. It was deliberate. Loud. Impossible to ignore. Exactly as planned.
Inside those vehicles sat soldiers ready for impact—but their true purpose was deception. Miles above, hidden among jagged rocks and steep ridgelines, Delta Squad waited. The Hizbul Mujahideen launchpad nestled in the hills stirred to life as expected. Through binoculars, Dan could see the chaos unfolding—men scrambling, weapons being hauled into position, anti-tank launchers mounted with urgency. Radios crackled. Orders were shouted. The bait had been taken.
"They’re locking onto the convoy" Dan muttered, adjusting his scope.
Beside him, Commander Hemant Kumar remained still, eyes sharp, calculating every movement below. There was no excitement in his expression. Only timing.
"Good, Let them" Hemant said quietly.
A beat.
"Delta… move"
The command was all it took. Within seconds, ropes were deployed over the cliff edge. One by one, shadows dropped from the sky—silent, precise, deadly. The wind howled as they descended, but their focus never wavered. Boots skimmed against rock, hands controlled the descent with mechanical perfection.
Then—Impact. The first soldier hit the ground and immediately opened fire.
The silence shattered. Gunfire erupted across the launchpad as Delta Squad unleashed controlled chaos. Suppressed bursts from customized UMPs tore through the startled terrorists. AK-47s roared in response, but it was too late. The attack had come from above—from nowhere.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"They’re on us! From the ridge!"
"Take cover—take—!"
The orders never finished.
Dan landed hard, rolled forward, and fired in one smooth motion. Two targets dropped instantly. He moved without hesitation, covering his flank, coordinating with the rest of the squad through hand signals and instinct. This wasn’t just combat. This was domination. At the center of it all was Hemant. He moved like a force of nature—relentless, unstoppable. His shots were precise, his movements fluid, every action calculated for maximum impact. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second-guess. He led. And the battlefield bent around him. Within minutes, resistance began to crumble. But one man ran.
A terrorist broke from the chaos, sprinting uphill, desperate to escape the kill zone. He zigzagged through rocks, trying to break line of sight, trying to outrun death itself. Hemant saw him. Without a word, he gave chase. Dan noticed—but didn’t follow. Something told him this wasn’t a pursuit anyone else needed to interfere with. The chase climbed higher, away from gunfire, away from the dying echoes of battle. Boots crushed snow and gravel as predator and prey raced toward the edge of the mountain.
Then—The cliff.
A deep gorge split the terrain ahead, a deadly drop separating two rocky ledges. The terrorist didn’t stop. Driven by fear, he leapt across the gap—barely making it, crashing onto the other side. Hemant stopped at the edge. For a moment, there was only silence. The terrorist scrambled up, breathless, then turned back—and laughed. A broken, hysterical sound.
"I will bring more men from across , we will not spare a single one of you!!!!"
He shouted across the gap. Hemant didn’t respond. He simply stared. Slowly, he reached to his side and pulled out a compact hatchet. The steel glinted under the harsh sunlight. Then, with deliberate calm, he tied it securely to the end of a rope coiled at his waist. The terrorist’s laughter faltered.
![[Image: Garud-Origin3.png]](https://i.ibb.co/HDqFhmq2/Garud-Origin3.png)
"What are you—"
Hemant began to swing. Once. Twice. The rope cut through the air with a low, rising whistle. The motion was smooth, controlled, gaining speed with every rotation. His eyes never left the target. The terrorist stepped back. Too late.
With a sudden, explosive motion, Hemant released. The rope shot forward like a missile. The hatchet spun once—Then struck. Clean. Brutal. Final. The blade buried itself into the man’s neck with devastating force, the momentum snapping his body backward. His decapitated body fell to the cliff followed by the severed head. Silence returned to the mountain, swallowing the last trace of resistance.
Hemant stood still for a second longer.
Then he pulled the rope back. And turned. By the time he returned to the launchpad, it was over. Smoke lingered in the air. Weapons lay scattered. Bodies marked the battlefield. Indian soldiers moved through the area, securing positions, confirming kills, checking for any survivors. Dan approached him, rifle slung but ready.
"All targets neutralized" he reported.
"Mission Parameters Achieved"
Hemant gave a small nod, scanning the area once more. Satisfied.
"Mission accomplished"
The words carried weight—not just of victory, but of precision. Of perfection. Moments later, the sound of approaching vehicles echoed through the hills. Major Sharma arrived with reinforcements, stepping out with a look that quickly turned into unmistakable satisfaction. He surveyed the scene. Then looked at Hemant. At Dan. At Delta Squad. A rare smile broke through.
"Well done, gentlemen" Sharma said, voice filled with pride.
"Command just confirmed"
A pause.
"This task force is no longer a prototype"
The soldiers nearby straightened, attention sharpening.
"It has been officially designated—"
He let the moment hang.
"—the Garuda Task Force"
The name settled into the air like a legacy being born. A wave of energy passed through the men. Some exhaled deeply. Others allowed themselves a brief grin. It wasn’t celebration in the traditional sense—but it was something stronger. Recognition. Honor. Beginning. Dan turned toward Hemant. For the first time since the operation began, there was a quiet exchange between them—not of rank, not of command—but of mutual respect earned in fire.
"Hell of a first mission" Dan said.
"You kept up" Hemant smirked slightly. A beat.
"Better than I expected"
Dan allowed himself a faint smile. Around them, soldiers secured the last of the perimeter as the sun began its slow descent beyond the peaks of Jammu and Kashmir. The mission was over. The battlefield was theirs. But neither of them mistook this moment for an end. This was only the beginning.
MONTHS LATER AT NAL AIRFORCE STATION BIKANER , RAJASTHAN
Two months later — skies above Bikaner.
The rumble of engines echoed through the dry desert air as an Antonov An-32 descended steadily toward the runway of Nal Air Force Station. From above, the base looked like a fortress carved into sand—runways cutting through golden terrain, hangars lined like silent guardians, and heat waves dancing over the tarmac.
Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere was far from relaxed. Gear rattled softly with the vibration of descent. Soldiers of the newly formed Garuda Task Force sat strapped in, their expressions calm but alert. For them, "Airfield Protection" didn’t mean rest—it meant more awareness. And waiting, in their line of work, was often more dangerous than action.Commander Hemant Kumar sat by the side, arms folded, eyes half-closed—not asleep, but thinking. Across from him, Second In Command Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar wiped sweat from his forehead, already irritated.
"We’ve barely landed and I can feel my soul evaporating, who posts combat units in an oven?"
Dan muttered.
"You survived Kashmir. You’ll survive Rajasthan" Hemant smirked without opening his eyes.
"That was cold, this is a giant microwave owen!" Dan shot back.
A few of the squad chuckled under their breath. The aircraft touched down with a heavy thud, tires screeching briefly before stabilizing.
![[Image: Hemant-Arriving-At-NAL.png]](https://i.ibb.co/9Rp04Bp/Hemant-Arriving-At-NAL.png)
The rear ramp lowered, and a wave of heat rushed in like an ambush. It wasn’t just hot—it was relentless, wrapping around them instantly. They stepped out onto the tarmac. Blinding sunlight. Dry wind. Endless horizon.
"I take it back. I’d choose bullets over this" Dan squinted.
Hemant inhaled deeply, scanning the base with quiet appreciation.
"Feels alive, different kind of battlefield" he said.
They moved forward, carrying their gear, boots striking against concrete. Around them, Indian Air Force personnel moved with their own rhythm—pilots, engineers, ground crew. It was a different world from the mountains, but no less intense. A commanding officer approached, crisp and efficient.
"Commander" he acknowledged.
"Your quarters are assigned near the control tower. New block. You’ll report for coordination brief at 1800 hours"
"Understood, sir" Hemant gave a sharp salute.
The officer returned it and walked off without another word.
"Control tower, huh?" Dan said as they began walking.
"At least we’ll get a breeze up there"
"Or a better view" Hemant replied casually.
They walked across the base, their pace steady. Conversations drifted naturally—fragments of past operations, near misses, silent victories. Since the formation of Garuda, they had already seen more action than most units would in years.
"Where do you think we go next?" Dan asked.
“Wherever the next bad guy emerges!" Hemant shrugged slightly.
Before Dan could reply—A roar split the air. Both men instinctively turned. A Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-27 screamed across the sky, descending with precision. The jet cut through the desert heat like a blade before touching down smoothly on the runway, trailing dust and power behind it.
Hemant stopped walking. Watched. There was something about fighter jets—the raw aggression, the control, the defiance of gravity. Even for a man like him, it commanded respect. The MiG-27 taxied toward the hangar, slowing as ground crew rushed into position. Ladders were brought in. Signals exchanged. Then the cockpit opened. The pilot emerged. At first, it was just a silhouette against the glare. Then clearer. A figure climbed down—confident, fluid. And then—Something unexpected. The helmet came off. A cascade of long hair loosened from a tight bun, falling freely over her shoulders. The desert wind caught it instantly, giving the moment an almost cinematic stillness. Hemant didn’t blink.
The pilot stepped down fully now—composed, unhurried. She removed her gloves, exchanging a few words with ground crew before turning—Toward him. Her face came into full view. Sharp eyes. Calm confidence. A presence that didn’t demand attention—yet owned it effortlessly. She then tied her hair to a bun and put on her aviators showing some swagger and personality.
![[Image: Kirti-Raghuvanshi.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/QFM5rVvF/Kirti-Raghuvanshi.jpg)
Hemant felt it. A rare, unfamiliar pause in his otherwise controlled mind. As she walked past, his eyes instinctively dropped for a second—just enough to catch the name stitched onto her uniform.
Kirti Raghuvanshi
He repeated it silently. She kept walking. Then—Her eyes met his. Just for a second. And in that second, something shifted. A faint grin appeared on her lips—not wide, not obvious—but deliberate. Knowing. Then she looked ahead again and continued walking. Hemant remained still. Dan stepped beside him and snapped his fingers right in front of his face.
"Hey, This is an Air Force base, not a Bollywood set" Dan smirked.
No response.
"Don’t tell me… Commander Saab is hit" Dan leaned closer.
"Maybe" Hemant finally exhaled, a small smile forming.
"You’re serious?" Dan blinked.
Hemant looked ahead, then slightly back—just where she had walked.
"Maybe I just found something worth staying for"
"This place melts brains. That’s what it does" Dan shook his head, laughing.
Hemant didn’t reply immediately. Instead, almost unconsciously, he looked back again. She was farther now. Walking away. Not looking back. For a moment, something unspoken passed through him—an absurd, fleeting thought. Turn back.
And then—As if the desert itself carried the message—She did. Kirthi Rathod turned her head over her shoulder. Her eyes found his again. This time, the grin was clearer. Warmer. Undeniable. And then she walked on. Dan went quiet. Even he felt that. Hemant stood there for a second longer, something settling deep within him—not distraction, not weakness… but anticipation.
Nal Air Force Station was supposed to be his new responsibility. A posting. A pause between spec ops. But as he picked up his gear and resumed walking—He knew. This place wasn’t just going to test him as a soldier. It was about to heal some things that were broken not so long ago. The breakup with Sanjana was still a flesh wound in his heart , but after seeing her. Something in him simply said maybe just maybe he was ready to move on. Something he had never trained for. And for the first time in a long time—The New Commander Hemant Kumar didn’t mind the uncertainty.
He was looking forward to experience what the future holds.
![[Image: Hemant-and-Kirti-1.png]](https://i.ibb.co/BKQ8nB6j/Hemant-and-Kirti-1.png)
The cold didn’t just bite—it hunted. Lieutenant Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar sat on a weathered ammunition crate, gloved hands clasped, breath fogging into the pale Himalayan dusk. The mountains loomed like silent sentinels around the base, their snow-covered ridges glowing faintly under a dying sun. There was a tension in the air that no amount of training could numb—a quiet, suffocating awareness that something big was coming.
Dan had arrived that morning under sealed orders, separated from his previous unit without explanation. That alone was enough to raise alarms. In Kashmir, nothing happened without reason. And lately, reasons were soaked in blood. Mujahideen attacks had escalated, becoming more brazen, more surgical. The valley wasn’t just unstable—it was boiling.
The camp reflected that unease. Soldiers moved with purpose, their conversations clipped and low. Crates of ammunition were stacked like barricades. Radio chatter crackled constantly from the command tents. Somewhere in the distance, a patrol vehicle roared to life and disappeared into the icy wilderness. Dan observed everything, his instincts sharpening with every passing second.
He stood up, adjusting his combat jacket, eyes scanning the perimeter. Every detail mattered. Every shadow could hide a threat. But just as he began piecing together the patterns of movement around him, a deep mechanical hum sliced through the air.
A helicopter.
Dan turned sharply toward the sound. Cutting through the pale sky was a Mi-16 transport chopper, descending steadily toward the landing zone. Snow whipped violently beneath it as it touched down, the rotor wash scattering ice and dust like a storm unleashed. Dan narrowed his eyes. Another unit, no doubt. Baltal was becoming a convergence point.
The side door slid open.
One by one, soldiers stepped out—disciplined, calculated, their boots hitting the ground in synchronized rhythm. Their gear was different—lighter, sleeker. Special operations, perhaps. Dan watched carefully, noting their posture, their silence, their precision. These weren’t ordinary troops.
Then, at the very end, someone else emerged.
The man stepped out without urgency, yet commanded attention instantly. Unlike the others, he wore an olive-green t-shirt instead of the standard uniform shirt. Aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes despite the fading light. His physique was imposing—broad shoulders, powerful arms, every movement radiating confidence without arrogance.
He walked past Dan.
For a fleeting moment, the man turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Dan. Then came a smile—not mocking, not casual—but something warm, assured… dangerous in its own way. It wasn’t just charisma. It was presence. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself.
Dan felt it immediately. Respect. Curiosity. And something else—a quiet realization that this man wasn’t ordinary.
The moment passed. The man continued walking.
But it stayed with Dan.
Hours later, the entire assembly gathered inside the main hangar. Rows of soldiers stood in formation, boots aligned, shoulders squared. The hum of generators echoed faintly as floodlights illuminated the steel interior. The air inside felt heavier than outside—thick with anticipation.
"At ease!"
Major Sharma’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood at the front, posture rigid, eyes scanning every man present. The room shifted slightly as soldiers relaxed just enough to comply.
Then came the sound of boots—measured, authoritative.
Brigadier Bakshi entered.
Every man straightened instinctively, respect snapping into place. Bakshi wasn’t just a senior officer—he was a battlefield legend. His presence alone carried the weight of decades of war, strategy, and survival. His gaze moved across the crowd, calculating, knowing.
"Gentlemen" he began, voice calm but commanding,
"You are here because you are among the finest this country has to offer"
No one moved. No one spoke.
"Since the hijacking of IC 814, we have understood one thing very clearly—our enemies are evolving. They are no longer confined to borders. They are targeting our skies, our systems… our sovereignty"
A pause.
"And so, we evolve"
The words landed like a declaration of war.
"A new elite task force is being formed. Prototype designation—Tiger Force. Its purpose—strategic operations and the protection of India’s critical air infrastructure. You are the candidates"
A ripple of silent intensity spread through the room.
"To test your capability" Bakshi continued,
"We are initiating a covert strike. Not far from here. A terror camp operating under heavy concealment in the hills. You will engage. You will neutralize"
His eyes hardened.
"And you will accomplish your mission"
He stepped back. Major Sharma took over.
"Squad assignments will be issued now. Listen carefully"
Names were called. Units divided. Tension sharpened.
"Lieutenant Dan"
Dan stepped forward instantly.
"Yes, sir"
"You have been assigned to Delta Squad"
"Understood, sir" Dan nodded once.
Sharma’s gaze held his for a second longer.
"You’ll be assaulting from the high ridge. Shock and awe. Fast insertion, aggressive engagement"
Dan felt a flicker of adrenaline surge through him.
"Your commanding officer—"
A pause.
"Captain Kumar"
Dan froze for just a fraction of a second. That man. The one from the helicopter. He could read his nameplate now.
Cpt. Hemant Kumar
There he was again—but different. Gone was the relaxed aura. In its place stood a fully geared soldier. Tactical vest, combat uniform, weapon slung with effortless familiarity. The sunglasses were gone, revealing sharp, focused eyes. The transformation was absolute.
"Lieutenant" Hemant said, extending a hand.
"Lieutinent Dan reporting for assignment sir" Dan shook it firmly.
"Relax, Dan. Out there, we don’t have time for stiffness" A faint smile returned.
There was something reassuring in his tone—confidence without ego.
“I’ve reviewed your record, You think fast. You adapt faster. I like that" Hemant continued.
"I won’t slow you down, sir" Dan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he met his gaze steadily.
"Good. Because you won’t just be keeping up" Hemant chuckled lightly.
A pause.
"You’ll be assisting me on this assault"
That hit harder than any order so far. Before Dan could respond, Hemant turned, addressing the squad now assembling behind him—battle-hardened men, each one carrying the same silent intensity.
"Listen up!" Hemant’s voice rose, sharp and clear.
"We move at 1400 hours. High ridge insertion. No noise, no mistakes. We hit hard, we hit fast, and we neutralize them before they even understand what happened"
He looked at each of them, one by one.
"This isn’t just another mission"
A beat.
"This is the beginning"
Dan felt it in his bones now. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t just another operation in a troubled region. This was something bigger. Something that would define them. Hemant’s final words sealed it.
"Gear up, Delta Squad"
His eyes locked onto Dan for a brief second.
"Operation Flaming Sun is a go!"
And just like that—The conquest had begun.
The sun stood high over the frozen passes of Zoji La, its light harsh and unforgiving against the white expanse. Noon in the mountains did little to soften the cold—but it revealed everything. And today, it revealed war in motion. Columns of Indian Army vehicles rolled steadily along the narrow highway below, engines growling against the silence of the valley. Dust and snow trailed behind them like a signal flare. It was deliberate. Loud. Impossible to ignore. Exactly as planned.
Inside those vehicles sat soldiers ready for impact—but their true purpose was deception. Miles above, hidden among jagged rocks and steep ridgelines, Delta Squad waited. The Hizbul Mujahideen launchpad nestled in the hills stirred to life as expected. Through binoculars, Dan could see the chaos unfolding—men scrambling, weapons being hauled into position, anti-tank launchers mounted with urgency. Radios crackled. Orders were shouted. The bait had been taken.
"They’re locking onto the convoy" Dan muttered, adjusting his scope.
Beside him, Commander Hemant Kumar remained still, eyes sharp, calculating every movement below. There was no excitement in his expression. Only timing.
"Good, Let them" Hemant said quietly.
A beat.
"Delta… move"
The command was all it took. Within seconds, ropes were deployed over the cliff edge. One by one, shadows dropped from the sky—silent, precise, deadly. The wind howled as they descended, but their focus never wavered. Boots skimmed against rock, hands controlled the descent with mechanical perfection.
Then—Impact. The first soldier hit the ground and immediately opened fire.
The silence shattered. Gunfire erupted across the launchpad as Delta Squad unleashed controlled chaos. Suppressed bursts from customized UMPs tore through the startled terrorists. AK-47s roared in response, but it was too late. The attack had come from above—from nowhere.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"They’re on us! From the ridge!"
"Take cover—take—!"
The orders never finished.
Dan landed hard, rolled forward, and fired in one smooth motion. Two targets dropped instantly. He moved without hesitation, covering his flank, coordinating with the rest of the squad through hand signals and instinct. This wasn’t just combat. This was domination. At the center of it all was Hemant. He moved like a force of nature—relentless, unstoppable. His shots were precise, his movements fluid, every action calculated for maximum impact. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second-guess. He led. And the battlefield bent around him. Within minutes, resistance began to crumble. But one man ran.
A terrorist broke from the chaos, sprinting uphill, desperate to escape the kill zone. He zigzagged through rocks, trying to break line of sight, trying to outrun death itself. Hemant saw him. Without a word, he gave chase. Dan noticed—but didn’t follow. Something told him this wasn’t a pursuit anyone else needed to interfere with. The chase climbed higher, away from gunfire, away from the dying echoes of battle. Boots crushed snow and gravel as predator and prey raced toward the edge of the mountain.
Then—The cliff.
A deep gorge split the terrain ahead, a deadly drop separating two rocky ledges. The terrorist didn’t stop. Driven by fear, he leapt across the gap—barely making it, crashing onto the other side. Hemant stopped at the edge. For a moment, there was only silence. The terrorist scrambled up, breathless, then turned back—and laughed. A broken, hysterical sound.
"I will bring more men from across , we will not spare a single one of you!!!!"
He shouted across the gap. Hemant didn’t respond. He simply stared. Slowly, he reached to his side and pulled out a compact hatchet. The steel glinted under the harsh sunlight. Then, with deliberate calm, he tied it securely to the end of a rope coiled at his waist. The terrorist’s laughter faltered.
"What are you—"
Hemant began to swing. Once. Twice. The rope cut through the air with a low, rising whistle. The motion was smooth, controlled, gaining speed with every rotation. His eyes never left the target. The terrorist stepped back. Too late.
With a sudden, explosive motion, Hemant released. The rope shot forward like a missile. The hatchet spun once—Then struck. Clean. Brutal. Final. The blade buried itself into the man’s neck with devastating force, the momentum snapping his body backward. His decapitated body fell to the cliff followed by the severed head. Silence returned to the mountain, swallowing the last trace of resistance.
Hemant stood still for a second longer.
Then he pulled the rope back. And turned. By the time he returned to the launchpad, it was over. Smoke lingered in the air. Weapons lay scattered. Bodies marked the battlefield. Indian soldiers moved through the area, securing positions, confirming kills, checking for any survivors. Dan approached him, rifle slung but ready.
"All targets neutralized" he reported.
"Mission Parameters Achieved"
Hemant gave a small nod, scanning the area once more. Satisfied.
"Mission accomplished"
The words carried weight—not just of victory, but of precision. Of perfection. Moments later, the sound of approaching vehicles echoed through the hills. Major Sharma arrived with reinforcements, stepping out with a look that quickly turned into unmistakable satisfaction. He surveyed the scene. Then looked at Hemant. At Dan. At Delta Squad. A rare smile broke through.
"Well done, gentlemen" Sharma said, voice filled with pride.
"Command just confirmed"
A pause.
"This task force is no longer a prototype"
The soldiers nearby straightened, attention sharpening.
"It has been officially designated—"
He let the moment hang.
"—the Garuda Task Force"
The name settled into the air like a legacy being born. A wave of energy passed through the men. Some exhaled deeply. Others allowed themselves a brief grin. It wasn’t celebration in the traditional sense—but it was something stronger. Recognition. Honor. Beginning. Dan turned toward Hemant. For the first time since the operation began, there was a quiet exchange between them—not of rank, not of command—but of mutual respect earned in fire.
"Hell of a first mission" Dan said.
"You kept up" Hemant smirked slightly. A beat.
"Better than I expected"
Dan allowed himself a faint smile. Around them, soldiers secured the last of the perimeter as the sun began its slow descent beyond the peaks of Jammu and Kashmir. The mission was over. The battlefield was theirs. But neither of them mistook this moment for an end. This was only the beginning.
MONTHS LATER AT NAL AIRFORCE STATION BIKANER , RAJASTHAN
Two months later — skies above Bikaner.
The rumble of engines echoed through the dry desert air as an Antonov An-32 descended steadily toward the runway of Nal Air Force Station. From above, the base looked like a fortress carved into sand—runways cutting through golden terrain, hangars lined like silent guardians, and heat waves dancing over the tarmac.
Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere was far from relaxed. Gear rattled softly with the vibration of descent. Soldiers of the newly formed Garuda Task Force sat strapped in, their expressions calm but alert. For them, "Airfield Protection" didn’t mean rest—it meant more awareness. And waiting, in their line of work, was often more dangerous than action.Commander Hemant Kumar sat by the side, arms folded, eyes half-closed—not asleep, but thinking. Across from him, Second In Command Dhananjay 'Dan' Shankar wiped sweat from his forehead, already irritated.
"We’ve barely landed and I can feel my soul evaporating, who posts combat units in an oven?"
Dan muttered.
"You survived Kashmir. You’ll survive Rajasthan" Hemant smirked without opening his eyes.
"That was cold, this is a giant microwave owen!" Dan shot back.
A few of the squad chuckled under their breath. The aircraft touched down with a heavy thud, tires screeching briefly before stabilizing.
The rear ramp lowered, and a wave of heat rushed in like an ambush. It wasn’t just hot—it was relentless, wrapping around them instantly. They stepped out onto the tarmac. Blinding sunlight. Dry wind. Endless horizon.
"I take it back. I’d choose bullets over this" Dan squinted.
Hemant inhaled deeply, scanning the base with quiet appreciation.
"Feels alive, different kind of battlefield" he said.
They moved forward, carrying their gear, boots striking against concrete. Around them, Indian Air Force personnel moved with their own rhythm—pilots, engineers, ground crew. It was a different world from the mountains, but no less intense. A commanding officer approached, crisp and efficient.
"Commander" he acknowledged.
"Your quarters are assigned near the control tower. New block. You’ll report for coordination brief at 1800 hours"
"Understood, sir" Hemant gave a sharp salute.
The officer returned it and walked off without another word.
"Control tower, huh?" Dan said as they began walking.
"At least we’ll get a breeze up there"
"Or a better view" Hemant replied casually.
They walked across the base, their pace steady. Conversations drifted naturally—fragments of past operations, near misses, silent victories. Since the formation of Garuda, they had already seen more action than most units would in years.
"Where do you think we go next?" Dan asked.
“Wherever the next bad guy emerges!" Hemant shrugged slightly.
Before Dan could reply—A roar split the air. Both men instinctively turned. A Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-27 screamed across the sky, descending with precision. The jet cut through the desert heat like a blade before touching down smoothly on the runway, trailing dust and power behind it.
Hemant stopped walking. Watched. There was something about fighter jets—the raw aggression, the control, the defiance of gravity. Even for a man like him, it commanded respect. The MiG-27 taxied toward the hangar, slowing as ground crew rushed into position. Ladders were brought in. Signals exchanged. Then the cockpit opened. The pilot emerged. At first, it was just a silhouette against the glare. Then clearer. A figure climbed down—confident, fluid. And then—Something unexpected. The helmet came off. A cascade of long hair loosened from a tight bun, falling freely over her shoulders. The desert wind caught it instantly, giving the moment an almost cinematic stillness. Hemant didn’t blink.
The pilot stepped down fully now—composed, unhurried. She removed her gloves, exchanging a few words with ground crew before turning—Toward him. Her face came into full view. Sharp eyes. Calm confidence. A presence that didn’t demand attention—yet owned it effortlessly. She then tied her hair to a bun and put on her aviators showing some swagger and personality.
Hemant felt it. A rare, unfamiliar pause in his otherwise controlled mind. As she walked past, his eyes instinctively dropped for a second—just enough to catch the name stitched onto her uniform.
Kirti Raghuvanshi
He repeated it silently. She kept walking. Then—Her eyes met his. Just for a second. And in that second, something shifted. A faint grin appeared on her lips—not wide, not obvious—but deliberate. Knowing. Then she looked ahead again and continued walking. Hemant remained still. Dan stepped beside him and snapped his fingers right in front of his face.
"Hey, This is an Air Force base, not a Bollywood set" Dan smirked.
No response.
"Don’t tell me… Commander Saab is hit" Dan leaned closer.
"Maybe" Hemant finally exhaled, a small smile forming.
"You’re serious?" Dan blinked.
Hemant looked ahead, then slightly back—just where she had walked.
"Maybe I just found something worth staying for"
"This place melts brains. That’s what it does" Dan shook his head, laughing.
Hemant didn’t reply immediately. Instead, almost unconsciously, he looked back again. She was farther now. Walking away. Not looking back. For a moment, something unspoken passed through him—an absurd, fleeting thought. Turn back.
And then—As if the desert itself carried the message—She did. Kirthi Rathod turned her head over her shoulder. Her eyes found his again. This time, the grin was clearer. Warmer. Undeniable. And then she walked on. Dan went quiet. Even he felt that. Hemant stood there for a second longer, something settling deep within him—not distraction, not weakness… but anticipation.
Nal Air Force Station was supposed to be his new responsibility. A posting. A pause between spec ops. But as he picked up his gear and resumed walking—He knew. This place wasn’t just going to test him as a soldier. It was about to heal some things that were broken not so long ago. The breakup with Sanjana was still a flesh wound in his heart , but after seeing her. Something in him simply said maybe just maybe he was ready to move on. Something he had never trained for. And for the first time in a long time—The New Commander Hemant Kumar didn’t mind the uncertainty.
He was looking forward to experience what the future holds.
END OF CHAPTER 33
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